


when you gonna realize (it was just that the time was wrong)

by palaces_outofparagraphs



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Nostalgia, Pining, Post S2, Sad, archie is oblivious and jughead is stressed, sad falice, unrequited love (or is it?), veronica is tipsy and betty is terrified of her mother, well a romanticized version but still, what could never be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 04:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14783705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palaces_outofparagraphs/pseuds/palaces_outofparagraphs
Summary: "Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Betty’s spine go rigid as Alice, eyeliner smudged across her cheekbones and hair a tangled web, strode into the store and to the counter. She didn’t turn around to see her daughter, though; her eyes, in fact, locked onto FP, and for the second time tonight, FP could sense the timing of this particular late night shift had ruined someone’s night entirely."fp works the late night shift at pop's, to the surprise of his son, his son's friends, and a late night wandering alice cooper.





	when you gonna realize (it was just that the time was wrong)

_ love struck romeo sings the streets a serenade _

_ laying everybody low with a love song that he made _

FP was working the late shift at Pop’s, and the world was quiet. It was peaceful, in a way it felt Riverdale hadn’t been peaceful in a long time. Of course, it was an illusion. Fred Andrews had probably thought it seemed peaceful too, when he’d gotten shot in the chest in front of his son - but then, the man who had done that was locked up, and the fluouroscent lighting of the sign in front had been fixed, and tonight, it was raining, very gently, just steady enough to feel like the world was being cleansed, but no thunder, no lightening, no torrential downpour.

It was FP’s favorite kind of weather. Pop’s was empty. He wiped down the counter in careful strokes and was something approaching utterly content. If he squinted, if he unfocused his eyes and his memory, he could make out the ghosts of himself, Fred, and Alice crammed into the back booth at Pop’s after a long night out doing nothing and everything. Laughing and talking and tormenting Alice within an inch of her life (she always gave back ten times as good as they got, leaving them decimated and hysterical with laughter), all three of them sixteen years old, all of them so deeply branded  _ Riverdale  _ that anything else was impossible.

_ And none of us ever left,  _ he thought, almost sadly. It was so far away ago he could almost pretend it was past remembering, but maybe it never would be, maybe if you stayed in the same small town all your life your sixteen year old self never really went away. They had all been pretty different, him and Fred and Alice. But one thing that they shared was that yearning, decisive burning to get out of this town. To be more than they were.

_ And look how we ended up,  _ he thought, hanging the rag on the hook, leaning against the back wall and looking at their old booth.  _ Alice’s husband is a murderer, I’m out of jail on probation, Fred’s looking after a house of Serpents. _

Very suddenly three faces blossomed into his mind - Jughead, Archie, and Betty, and he felt a sudden surge of pride so powerful that it overwhelmed the bitterness of never having achieved the dream of leaving. They weren’t exactly where they thought they would be when they were sixteen, but they had good kids. They had incredible, heroic kids, and none of them - except Fred, really - had been doing right by them, but they were  _ trying,  _ and they were getting there, and after all, Alice had got her husband put in jail, he was building his family back, and Fred - well, Fred was the hero Riverdale needed. Always had been, always would be.

_ So maybe it isn’t so bad, old man.  _ The voice in his head was his son, wry and storytelling. Jughead, the best thing he’d ever done. Jughead, who made it worth it to stay here. Jughead, who had made Riverdale his own.

At the very moment, the bell to Pop’s sounded, the door crashing open and a torrent of high-spirited teenage chatter pouring in, and Jughead himself was heading the group of laughing kids coming in. FP raised his eyebrows, not moving from his position leaning against the back wall.  “And then they were like - ” Betty was saying, “ - they were like,  _ no! _ ” All four of them burst into fresh hysterics.

_ Youth, _ he thought tangentially. Jughead’s voice in his head again. And his own, dad voice overriding it, as he watched his son, Betty, Archie, and Veronica wander in, arms hanging off each other, certain members of the party certainly not entirely sober, and half of him thought  _ Jug you should be in bed  _ and the other part of him brimmed with pride to see his son so happy, so belonging, so absolutely sure that this was his place.

Himself, Alice, and Fred a thousand years ago. Plus Veronica, but it wasn’t like they never brought Hermione - or, more accurately,  _ Fred  _ brought Hermione - so she fit right in.

“ _ Dad?”  _ Jughead stopped in his tracks as Veronica and Archie slid into one side of the booth, giggling, but all four of them froze as they looked up at him. FP held back a laugh at the comical cross between shock and something approaching panic on his face. They had definitely been coming from somewehre they shouldn’t have been. “I - I didn’t know you were working this late!”

“And I thought you were at Archie’s for a sleepover,” said FP across the shop, but he couldn’t help but grin. The discipline lark wasn’t for him. 

“I was,” said Jug defensively, just as Archie insisted, “he  _ is!” _

“Seems like you’re not at Archie’s,” commented FP, walking around the counter and towards their booth. “And seems like you have two people with you who aren’t Archie.”

“Hi Mr. Jones,” said Veronica, her eyes dancing in a way that suggested her night had been excellent to a point undisturbed by the surprising presence of her boyfriend’s best friend’s father. “We were all just out for a little bit and decided to get milkshakes before heading back,” Archie kicked her, hard, under the table, “I mean, before Jughead and Archie head back to Fred’s. And I go back to my home. And Betty goes back to her home.”

“Veronica,” said Jughead, as even Betty, who had sank into the booth as well, across from Archie and Veronica, dissolved into giggles. “Shut up.”

“Shutting up!” said Veronica brightly.

FP rolled his eyes. “Sit down, son,” he said, grinning, “I’m not gonna crash your date.”

“It’s crashed,” grumbled Jughead. Betty tugged on his sleeve, and he sat down.

“Can we get some burgers please?” said Archie brightly.

“Burgers at this time?” said Betty. 

“Soak up the - ” began Archie, and Jughead kicked him. “ - blood,” he finished feebly.

“A burger for Archie and Veronica to share,” said Jughead, “and milkshakes for me and Betty. Sorry Dad.”

FP shook his head, trying really hard not to laugh. “Don’t worry about it, boy,” said FP. “Get you all some food. And maybe some water, in case some of us are trying to avoid hangovers tomorrow morning.”  
“I told you it was a stupid idea,” said Betty to Veronica. She turned to FP. “Mr. Jones, please don’t tell my mother.”

FP couldn’t help but laugh at that. “A man’s only as good as his word, Betty,” he said mysteriously, before striding away from the table to get them food.

In the back, he considered how he was probably in the wrong here. He was pretty sure as a father, he was meant to be angry, not bringing them food and drink, but what the hell. He was still new at this being a good dad thing, and letting his son be happy seemed harmless.

_ What would Fred do?  _ he wondered, and decided Fred would laugh. And if he wouldn’t, he should. He would meet him for lunch tomorrow maybe, tell him what had happened.

Fred probably knew where Archie was, though. Fred always knew where Archie was, but even in high school he’d had an unerring, unnerving way of knowing where his friends were, too. He was good at just showing up whenever FP was on a date, wherever he was.

_ And here, upon your son, I lie my revenge,  _ thought FP absurdly. 

He brought them food and then disappeared back behind the counter, because he could feel Jughead’s tension levels, and thought he would just stay quiet enough for Jughead to pretend his father wasn’t bearing witness to him and his friends’ late night teenage shenanigans. He took a seat instead, flicking through the novel he’d brought for the night shift, (a four hundred some page thriller Jughead had insisted he’d love, FP hadn’t finished a book since high school, but it wasn’t bad) but couldn’t stop himself from peering over the pages, across at his son. Jughead had calmed down once FP was out of immediate sight range and was relaxed and happy, drinking his milkshake, one arm tight across Betty’s shoulders. She was wearing his Southside serpents jacket, FP noticed with a start, and her head was tucked into his shoulder. Archie and Veronica were clearly still somewhat tipsy - FP was strangely proud of his son for not parttaking - where had they been anyway? he should find out somehow, that was what a father would do - but they were all at the same level of excitable. Jughead was halfway through another story, Archie interrupting every few minutes, Betty and Veronica overlapping with their own conclusions. It was half an argument, half a competition to see who could make the other laugh the hardest, and all four of them reminded FP painfully, beautifully of how things used to be.

_ My son is so happy, _ he thought.  _ My son is so happy, and that means my life up until now has been a success.  _ It was the only thing in the world that really mattered.

_ Well.  _ There was one more thing watching the four of them reminded him of - watching Jug’s arm tight around Betty reminded him of - and he thought, maybe, there was one more thing in the world that mattered.

_ Alice.  _ Since he had held her late at night, when she had spilled her confessions across the floor of his trailer, he’d barely spoken to her. The world had exploded, and then her husband had gone to jail. In between, Jughead had been passed out in a hospital bed for two nights, and his memory of those nights were blurry and terrifying, but he knew Alice had been there, with Betty. He remembered she had been there, maybe her hand in his.

_ We had a son.  _ He still wasn’t angry. Fred said he would have been angry, because he had told Fred, because part of him was still sixteen and stupid.  _ We had a son, and he’s died.  _ It just didn’t seem real enough to make him sad. 

Jughead would have had a brother. What did he look like, what had he been like? But he couldn’t make it real, couldn’t make him real, and so much had happened since the revelation that he barely had time to even try and make it real.

The bell to Pop’s rang again, and FP wondered if he had developed some sort of power, to summon people with his mind, because -

“Well, well, well,” he said, sliding his elbows across the counter and dropping his head into his hands. “If it isn’t Alice Cooper, out for a late night burger run.”

Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Betty’s spine go rigid as Alice, eyeliner smudged across her cheekbones and hair a tangled web, strode into the store and to the counter. She didn’t turn around to see her daughter, though; her eyes, in fact, locked onto FP, and for the second time tonight, FP could sense the timing of this particular late night shift had ruined someone’s night entirely.

“FP Jones,” said Alice, and for a second his vision blurred and he saw Alice Reynolds, from high school, tangled blond hair all the way down her back, Serpent jacket with the sleeves rolled up so you could see one of her tattooes low on her forearm, seventeen bracelets per arm, and one of FP’s rings hanging in a chain off her neck, vicious, Serpent grin. Alice before she had been tamed by the Northside. Alice as she had been, a hundred years ago, manifesting in front of him in Pop’s, hair short, face lined with age, but she was still  _ Alice.  _ (his alice) “Can’t get a cup of coffee in this town without running into an old flame.”

“So it would seem,” he said. “Guess only your old flames work the night shift.”

Alice grinned, yawned, then her face crumpled almost as if she were about to cry. 

“Are you - are you okay, Alice?”

“My life’s fallen  _ apart,  _ FP,” she said, almost in a sob. Over her shoulder he saw Betty curling surreptiously into his son’s shoulder. “My husband is in  _ jail. _ And he tried to kill my daughter. And, and - and  _ every other thing in my life,  _ also. And I just wanted a cup  _ of coffee,  _ and now you, and I see you and just think about what I  _ did,  _ and - ” despite the vague hysterics, she lowered her voice - “and  _ what  _ is Betty doing here! She was meant to be at a sleepover!  _ With Veronica!” _

“Well,” said FP. “Veronica’s here too.”

“They still think I can’t see them.”

“Maybe best to leave it this way. Let me get you a coffee, Ally.”

The nickname made her flinch, but she nodded, sinking into a bar stool at the counter. “Do they know  _ you  _ see them?” she asked.

“Yeah. I brought them food.”

“ _ Jones. _ ”

“What? My son’s happy. Not about to send him home.” He slid a cup of coffee across the table. “They still think you can’t see them. Betty’s hiding in Jughead’s jacket.”

“Teenagers,” said Alice, a touch of light settling in her voice as she took the first sip of coffee. “Think they’re chameleons.”

He snorted with laughter. “What brings you to Pop’s in the middle of the night?”

“What ever used to bring us?”

“Teenage dreams and a yearning for hot greasy food?”

“ _ Yearning.  _ When did you become a poet?” She thumped the book he’d left on the counter. “And you’re  _ reading. _ Why the hell are you reading  _ Catch-22 _ ?”

“Jug said I’d like it,” said FP, pushing her coffee towards her gently. “Nice to have something to talk to him about. Three sugars, one cream, two pumps of vanilla.”

She took a sip, her face relaxing. “You remembered,” she said, somewhat begrudgingly.

“I remember teasing tough as nails Alice Reynolds for having such girly taste in coffee.”

“Yeah, that was idiotic. Especially considering Fred took his with whipped cream.”

FP snorted with laughter. He’d made himself a cup of too, and he took a sip, settling onto the stool on the other side of the counter. “So, did teenage dreams and a yearning for hot greasy food bring you here?”

“No, I just..” she stirred her coffee. “I just needed some coffee. Needed to get out, to drive. To be by myself.”

“Wasn’t counting into running into me.”

“No. I wasn’t.” But she was smiling, inexplicably, into her coffee. She took a deep, long breath. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what,” he said, with complete honesty. Even after everything, it didn’t ever feel right for Alice to apologize to him. Alice never apologized. She didn’t have to. He and Fred used to have to apologize for her, when they pissed her off, but she never had to apologize back. It was part of their dynamic.

She sighed, looking past him, out of the windows, across the town, perhaps. “For not noticing my husband was a murderer.”

“That’s got nothing to do with me.”

“I endangered everyone in town. Including you.”

“He should be apologizing. Not you.” FP had always hated Hal, just like Fred had always hated Hiram Lodge. There was some satisfaction in the fact that they were both in jail, awaiting trial. Sierra really was an excellent lawyer, and when Archie had been “arrested” the week before, she had not only managed to get the charges dropped immediately, but traced directly back to Hiram; with Hermione’s help, everything else had come out. 

It wasn’t like he was doing  _ incredible,  _ neither was Fred. But neither of them were in jail for murder and conspiracy, so at the end of the day maybe life had not worked out so awfully after all.

“I..” Alice exhaled quietly into her coffee, speaking so softly he barely heard her, probably for the benefit of their kids across the store, even though Betty’s foolhardy confidence had been restored that her mother could not in fact see her, and she had gone back to chatting away, though still hiding somewhat tucked into Jughead’s shoulder. “I did something terrible, FP. I did something so, so terrible, and it wasn’t just - it was something terrible to you, too. And I never told you. Aren’t you  _ angry  _ at me?”

FP looked past her, out of the windows, across the town, perhaps. “I should be,” he said. “I know, I should be. You should have told me, Ally. Should have told me that the kid was mine. That you had the kid.” He couldn’t make the words reach his heart. It was as if he had always known, he realized, somewhere deep within him. It was something he had maybe known forever and accepted a million years ago, and maybe it had never stopped hurting, but at the same time, maybe that’s why it had never started.

His eyes lifted towards Jughead.  _ You’re all I’ll ever need,  _ he thought,  _ you and your sister. _

If she had told him, if they had kept him, the whole universe would have been different. But it would be a different universe than the one they were living in. He might not even have Jughead.

Still. There was a son, somewhere. There had been.

“But it wasn’t to be,” he spoke aloud. “It wasn’t to be. But it wasn’t your fault, Ally. Not your fault for giving him up. Not your fault for sending him away. You were just..” he trailed off, the word  _ trapped  _ on his tongue. “Hiding. Hiding from who you really were. We’ve all been there.”

Alice looked up, into his eyes, and he felt a jolt so powerful it knocked him off guard, a powerful, burning  _ need  _ to protect her, to take care of her, to make sure no one ever, ever hurt her again. Ally - his Alice. For a second he was sixteen and she was crying and he and Fred were sitting with her at Pop’s and making furtive plans to beat up Hal. Alice never cried. When she did, someone had to pay.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay, you know,” he said softly, lying his hand on her’s. “It’s all gonna be okay.”

“How can you even look at me?”

_ Because I love you.  _ The answer was so simple, so essential, so  _ obvious,  _ and if Betty and Jughead hadn’t been sitting across the way, there would have been nothing in the world to stop him from kissing her.  _ Because I love you, and I forgive you, even though you did something terrible. You had no choice and there was nothing you could do and anyway you could do anything and I would still forgive you. Because I love you, I always had. _

“Because you’re Alice,” he said aloud. “Alice Reynolds from the South side, that’s who you are. That’s who you’ll always be.” He wanted to hold her, to keep her away from anything, but instead he curled a lock of her golden hair around his finger the way he had when they were young. And he hoped she knew he didn’t mean it the way she didn’t want to hear it, that she hadn’t grown or changed or raised a wonderful family, but that she was still beautiful, still strong, still eternal. And that he loved her. “FP could never hold any grudges against Alice.”

She smiled, for the first time in what felt like a long time, a smile that reached all the way to her blue eyes. Alice had changed her hair and her clothes and her life but no one could ever change their eyes. “He probably should.”

“Yeah, well. Never been good at that.”

She exhaled, draining her coffee cup. “Is it stupid that I miss Hal?”

“Yes,” he said bluntly.

“Shut up. You get used to someone sleeping in the same bed as you.”

“Whatever. He ruined your life, and that was before he became a serial killer.”

She snorted, almost laughing. “I should get back home,” she said softly. “Technically I should be waiting up for my daughter.”

“Your daughter,” said FP, grinning, “who still thinks you can’t see her.”

“My daughter,” said Alice resignedly, holding his gaze in a way that made his heart beat faster, “who is in love with your son.”

They both knew what it meant; they let the words settle around them like ashes after flame. And they spent a few moments looking at each other, a few moments where they stopped pretending where they didn’t mind, a few moments pretending --

“Maybe,” he said, because he knew what he had to do, “we just missed our time.”

She smiled, not a Serpent teethed grin this time, but something approaching her Stepford wives blank gaze. She was given away, though, by the slightest tremble of her lip, by the way her fingers started tapping, almost frenzied, on the counter. Alice never cried except occasionally. The rest of the time, he knew here well enough to know when she wanted to. “Maybe we did,” she said, regret and exhaustion in her voice.

“But you’ve still got me,” he said quietly, shifting his eyes just past her, out the windows, across the town perhaps. “No matter how, you’ll always have got me.”

She nodded, closed her eyes briefly, then hopped off the bar stool, pushing the mug back across the counter, and picked up her pocketbook. “How much will - ”

“Don’t be stupid.”

She made a face at him but didn’t try again. “Elizabeth!” she called instead without turning, and FP grinned as Betty jumped out of her seat, scooting all the way across the booth from where she had been snuggled with Jughead, pure horror on her face. “Will you be needing a lift home? I  _ hope  _ you’re not planning on driving with someone  _ inebriated,  _ and Archie, Fred  _ will  _ be hearing about this!”

“Hi Mrs. Cooper,” said Archie feebly.

“I  _ told  _ you, she saw us,” hissed Jughead. 

Alice turned. “A ride?” she said again. Betty’s face was aflame; it suddenly became more apparent that she was wrapped in a Southside jacket. 

“I’m - Mom, I’m - ”

“Don’t worry, Alice,” said FP. “I’ll take them back, I just have to close up here. Archie and Jug to Fred’s, Betty and Veronica to yours. All right with your mom, Veronica?”

“Well, we were going to - ” Betty stepped on Veronica’s foot. 

“Thanks, Mr. Jones,” she said instead.

Alice rolled her eyes.

“It’s not like we never got up to any worse, eh?” said FP softly, poking her in the shoulder, and out shone her Serpent grin, one more time. His heart ached. He would do anything for her to see that grin all the time.

“G’night, Alice,” said FP. “Drive safe, yeah?”  
“I will. And..” she hesitated, glancing down at the free coffee he’d given her, at her daughter, at his son, at him. “Thank you,” she said, the words imbued with everything she could never say, and everything she had, a million years ago. 

He smiled. He never needed her thanks, no more than he needed her apologies. She was Alice, and by nature of being would always have an unrelenting, unrealistic, unnecessary hold over his heart. It was unbearable, loving her; it was annihilating, and it was the punishment he had to bear for the sins he carried.  _ You will never be with the one you love.  _ It had been written in stone, in scripture; for what he had done - to his daughter, son, wife, to Jason Blossom - this was the penance he paid.

At least her eyes were in his life.

“Goodnight, Alice,” he said against instead.

“Goodnight, FP.” She gathered her handbag, raised a hand to her daughter, and left the store.

The bell rang and then there was silence.

“Thank you, Mr. Jones,” said Betty into the emptiness. “For, the ride.”

He raised his eyes towards them, looking at Betty and his son. His son, who loved Alice’s daughter, and for one spiraling moment he thought maybe he had passed down the curse, passed down the brokenness,  _ the sins of the fathers,  _ he blinked and saw himself, Fred, Alice, and Hermione crammed and laughing into a booth late at night after getting up to who knew what, he saw himself reaching across the table to her, her hand moving back into her lap at the last moment,

he blinked, saw his son take Betty’s hand in his, hold it more gently than he ever knew,  _ the sins of the fathers,  _ or maybe it was a take two, a second chance from the universe, maybe they would do right what their parents never could.

\--

He parked in between Alice and Fred’s house and marveled for a moment at destiny moving the two of them next door to each other, and him back into Sunnyside Trailer Park. “G’night, girls,” he said, twisting around as Betty pulled open the car door, feeling absurdly like he was playing a role he didn’t quite know the lines for. 

“Thanks, Mr. Jones!” said Veronica, who had sobered up almost entirely, brightly. She hopped out of the car, tripping on her heels as she walked up to the house.

“Take care of your mom, Betty,” said FP quietly.

“I will.” She ran both her hands through her hair. FP had never seen her without her tight ponytail.

She got out of the car, and then so did Archie, to walk her to her front door and then to go into Fred’s house, and then it was FP and his son in the passenger seat.

“Well,” said Jughead. “That night didn’t go as expected.”

“No,” said FP. “Do you not have a problem with Archie walking your girlfriend to her door?”  
“No. I don’t think she likes him anymore. I mean, she kissed him, but then I kissed Veronica, so it evened out.”

FP blinked. “Um. All right.” Teenage hijinx were apparently exactly the same as they had been fifteen years ago. “Look.” An attempt at discipline, he thought. “You’re not supposed to do this.”

“Do what?” said Jughead maddeningly.

“You’re supposed to be where you tell me you’re going to be.”

“But we were at Archie’s. We just went somewhere else. And we were gonna go back. Eventually.”

FP rolled his eyes. “Where were you?” he asked.

Jughead hesitated.

“I’m not gonna get mad,” said FP. “Hell, it doesn’t really matter since you ended up at Pop’s anyway.”  _ And sober, I’m proud of you, for doing what I never could.  _ “But, you know. I just want to know.”

“Cheryl and Toni had a party at Thistlehouse,” said Jug after a minute. “And it was stupid and not really my scene but Veronica wanted to go so Betty wanted to go so I went. It was stupid. But it was kinda fun, I guess. It was fun to be with Archie, and everyone. And everything was chill.” He took a breath. “Everything’s been so weird for so long. So it was. Okay.”

“Cheryl  _ Blossom? _ ” said FP after a while, bewildered.

“Yeah. I don’t really know, Dad.”

“Why would you go to a party at  _ Cheryl Blossom’s?  _ Is it ‘cause she’s a Serpent now? _ ” _

“I don’t know! And she only kind of is. We just ended up there.”

“I thought you hated, you know, people.”  
“I _do._ It was just.. I don’t know.”

“All right.” He wanted to laugh, but the look at Jug’s face was pensively serious, so he didn’t. “Don’t lie to Fred, ever. Okay?”

“We didn’t lie to Fred,” muttered Jug, looking abashed for the first time, and FP wondered, vaguely, why he had more of a problem being dishonest with Fred than he did with him.  _ Don’t look at that one too closely.  _ “We just told him - ”

“Don’t split hairs. When you’re at Fred’s, tell Fred where you are. Got it?”

“Okay.” He paused. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

Maybe he did feel a little bad about being dishonest with him.

It was almost 2 a.m. FP clapped Jug, gentle because the injuries hadn’t quite faded, on the shoulder. “Get in there. Sleep well, kid. I’ll see you in the morning, right?”

“Thanks, Dad. Good night.” He hesitated for another moment, then almost shyly, so quickly it might not have happened, snaked his arm around his dad’s waist for a quick nano-version of a hug. “Thanks for the ride.”

“No problem.” FP leaned his head against the window, watching as Jughead hopped out, running up the lane to Fred’s house. He exhaled heavily, thinking about his son, Betty; about Alice, about Fred, waiting up for Archie and his house full of Serpent teenagers, some of he could just make out in the darkness sneaking through the door after Jug - clearly, it had been a crowded party at Thistelhouse - thought about the past, his sixteen year old self, Gladys and Jellybean, Riverdale, Riverdale,  _ Riverdale. _

He put the car into reverse and drove slowly home.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> do snakes have teeth? who cares
> 
> flings arms up in the air


End file.
